


like the dying do

by sergeant_smudge



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guilt, Hospitals, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Memories, Pain, Recovery, Suffering, mostly just hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:48:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9570191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant_smudge/pseuds/sergeant_smudge
Summary: he suffers, and, he decides, rightfully so.





	

Three days ago, they pulled him out of cryo. 

Slid him from the chamber and poured his ruined body onto a white bed in a white room. Pressed needles into parched veins and held lights to his eyes. 

Forced words into his ears that echo like screams, 

“Can you hear me, Mister Barnes? Do you feel any pain, Mister Barnes?” 

Their voices pummel at him, grinding like stone. 

He gasps like the dying do, all desperation and agony. He mangles handfuls of the tight cotton sheets, breathing in through decades of suffering. 

The air leaves him in a whistling howl, sighing like any hollow thing does. Like warm breath over a bottle’s mouth. Like a dark dripping cave. Like the chest cavity of a man whose lungs are collapsing as blood gargles out of him - 

And they ask him if he’s there, if he’s with them, if he can hear, can you hear us, can you hear us, can you - 

But all he can hear is a high wailing. All he can feel is an eviscerating nothingness, pulling at his ribs as he breathes. 

He shivers. Screams. 

They empty tranquilizers, sedatives,  _ anything,  _ into his arms, but he feels them burn away with each exhale. His body will give him no rest. He suffers, and, he decides, rightfully so. 

 

It’s been three days like this, like Hell. Like the wasting away of a heroin addict in withdrawal, like drowning, like fire, like bleeding out on a tile floor as he stands over, watching, watching-

“I’m sorry,” he gurgles out through bloody saliva. “I’m so sorry.” He’s apologizing to ghosts, to spirits who couldn’t forgive him if he deserved it. 

“It’s okay, Buck, it’s okay.” 

Bucky’s eyes shatter open. 

“No,” he whispers, because Steve Rogers is standing over him, glowing, backlit by the too-bright fluorescents. He can’t have this all again. He can’t lose this all again. His eyes fall closed. “No.” 

“Bucky, do you know who I am?” Steve asks, and his voice is soft and smooth, like satin on his beaten ears. His head twitches a nod. For a precious moment, there is only silence, a beat of peace. 

“Do you know where you are, Bucky?” And it shatters. 

“It’s okay, Bucky,” he says, because all the air in Bucky is rushing out in harsh, short sobs, and he can’t  _ breathe.  _

He tries to curl up, away, away, but they must have strapped him down at some point, because his limbs are held back. He can’t get away from Steve, Steve with his exoneration, with his healing words and blue eyes like an oasis. 

“Don’t forgive me,” Bucky warbles, voice not so much cracking as crumbling. 

“What? I didn’t hear you, Buck,” Steve whispers, all rounded letters and humming consonants. Bucky can sense his hands hesitating near Bucky’s skin, twitching to touch him, to absorb his pain.  

“I don’t deserve it. Don’t forgive me.” There’s panic rising in his chest. 

Steve breathes deeply, his fingers worrying at the strap holding down Bucky’s arm. Steve’s not supposed to touch him, not supposed to unleash him. He’s dangerous, too unpredictable. He’s killed so many. He’s hurt so many people. He’s ripped them all from their families and homes and - 

“You had no choice.” He decisively slips Bucky’s arm free, wrapping both hands around Bucky’s scarred palm. “That wasn’t you,” he says, though he stares down at their fingers when he says it. 

“Wasn’t it?” Bucky rasps, taking a small victory in the hurt that flashes across Steve’s face. 

He turns his head, staring into Steve’s eyes. He can see his reflection in the blue. In Steve’s eyes, he’s smaller and handsome, with combed hair and a grand smile. He’s worth forgiving, absolving, rescuing. 

“No, it wasn’t,” Steve says sternly. 

He hasn’t been that boy in a long time. He’ll never be that Bucky Barnes ever again. 

He pulls his arm away from Steve’s warm hands, back to his own chest. He shivers. 

“It hurts so much.” Bucky’s face contorts, his chest heaving. 

“I know.”

“No,” he moans. “No, you don’t.” 

**Author's Note:**

> needed some more angst in my life


End file.
